Everything was wonderfully simplified.  If only he could get across, once reach New York!  Meanwhile, he looked at his watch again and discovered that it wanted but ten minutes to three.  He made his way back down to his stateroom, which was already filled with his luggage.  He shook out an ulster from a bundle of wraps, and selected a tweed cap.  Already there was a faint touch of the sea in the river breeze, and he was impatient for the immeasurable open spaces, the salt wind, the rise and fall of the great ship.  Then, as he stood on the threshold of his cabin, he heard voices.

“Down in number 110, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” he heard his steward’s voice reply.  “Mr. Romilly has just gone down.  You’ve only a minute, sir, before the last call for passengers.”

“That’s all right,” the voice which had spoken to him over the telephone that morning replied.  “I’d just like to shake hands with him and wish him bon voyage.”

Philip’s teeth came together in a little fury of anger.  It was maddening, this, to be trapped when only a few minutes remained between him and safety!  His brain worked swiftly.  He took his chance of finding the next stateroom empty, as it happened to be, and stepped quickly inside.  He kept his back to the door until the footsteps had passed.  He heard the knock at his stateroom, stepped back into the corridor, and passed along a little gangway to the other side of the ship.  He hurried up the stairs and into the smoking-room.  The bugle was sounding now, and hoarse voices were shouting: 

“Every one for the shore!  Last call for the shore!”

“Give me a brandy and soda,” he begged the steward, who was just opening the bar.

The man glanced at the clock and obeyed.  Philip swallowed half of it at a gulp, then sat down with the tumbler in his hand.  All of a sudden something disappeared from in front of one of the portholes.  His heart gave a little jump.  They were moving!  He sprang up and hurried to the doorway.  Slowly but unmistakably they were gliding away from the dock.  Already a lengthening line of people were waving their handkerchiefs and shouting farewells.  Around them in the river little tugs were screaming, and the ropes from the dock had been thrown loose.  Philip stepped to the rail, his heart growing lighter at every moment.  His ubiquitous steward, laden with hand luggage, paused for a moment.

“I sent a gentleman down to your stateroom just before the steamer started, sir,” he announced, “gentleman of the name of Gayes, who wanted to say good-by to you.”

“Bad luck!” Philip answered.  “I must have just missed him.”

The steward turned around and pointed to the quay.

“There he is, sir—­elderly gentleman in a grey suit, and a bunch of violets in his buttonhole.  He’s looking straight at you.”

Philip raised his cap and waved it with enthusiasm.  After a moment’s hesitation, the other man did the same.  The steward collected his belongings and shuffled off.